


Feather and Bone

by thattrainssailed



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec is a warrior, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 15:26:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14751470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thattrainssailed/pseuds/thattrainssailed
Summary: There have been shadowhunters for whom it would be far too easy to imagine wings. Tentative allies of Magnus wrapped in caution, perfectly complemented by the idea of a protective layer of feather and bone. Those who look down on him with huge wingspans unfolding to counterbalance their egos. Circle members with skeletal appendages jutting from their shoulders, a few sparse feathers desperately clinging on until they are shaken off by violence. But it’s the end it’s all speculation; poetry scrawled into margins far too narrow for the words to hold any sway.And then Magnus meets Alexander Lightwood.





	Feather and Bone

Wings are something of an urban legend among the shadow world. They’re spoken of in jest, in mockery - these nephilim, so righteous in their alleged mission, claiming to have the blessing over the angels themselves. It would be the right type of dramatics for them to believe they could soar up to the high ground on wings of heavenly intention.

Magnus has made his fair share of jokes at such expense. He’s known more than a few shadowhunters who have acted as though they are themselves pure angels, untouchable and above every other species in all meanings of the word. Some other downworlders have shaken their heads in response to his snubs, pointed out eyewitnesses who claimed that nephilims’ wings are real, if only seen for a second in the heat of battle. Magnus, of course, rolled his eyes, written it off as fancy built on anecdotal evidence. And yet there is a tempting poetry to the claim.

There have been shadowhunters for whom it would be far too easy to imagine wings. Tentative allies of Magnus wrapped in caution, perfectly complemented by the idea of a protective layer of feather and bone. Those who look down on him with huge wingspans unfolding to counterbalance their egos. Circle members with skeletal appendages jutting from their shoulders, a few sparse feathers desperately clinging on until they are shaken off by violence. But it’s the end it’s all speculation; poetry scrawled into margins far too narrow for the words to hold any sway.

And then Magnus meets Alexander Lightwood.

Alexander is unlike his brethren in many ways. Stilted hesitance instead of overconfidence. Resignation instead of fervour. A goofy smile instead of glaring. He is beautiful and loving and still learning. The looks he gives Magnus are soft and curious. When he laughs, Magnus can feel himself falling in love. Alexander is an impossibility, a being of raw chance who happens to adore Magnus, whom Magnus adores in kind.

But Alexander is still a nephilim. A warrior by birthright.

Even months into their relationship, Magnus is floored by him on the battlefield. Arrows are notched and released with grace; a seraph blade swings in a perfect arch; he leaps and ducks out of pure instinct, muscle memory from hours of training for every possible scenario. Their group is surrounded by demons but Alexander keeps his cool. He calls directions for his plan and his companions move out of pure trust, not even needing to look at Alec for confirmation. A light drizzle begins but is ignored. Magnus’ own magic dances with them in powerful synchronicity, filling in their gaps and weak spots. Isabelle’s whip slashes through the air and into a shax demon, its body tearing in half and flying apart; its mangled corpse hits its own ally beside it, stunning it before the whip comes for that one as well. Clary’s twin blades perform a duet of ferocity as they pierce creature after creature as they come upon her. Magnus sends a fireball under her kick to take out an ambushing enemy. The tiniest amount of steam hisses off the magic as the rain thickens. The demons aren’t bothered the water, nor the growing winds around them. They keep crawling forward, seemingly birthed by the darkness. Magnus can’t see the end of them, wonders if pure exhaustion will be the end of the shadowhunters, and  _ where in the world is Alexander? _

His last question is answered when arrows suddenly join the rain in its descent from the sky; Magnus looks up and sees his boyfriend scaling the fire escape of the building beside them, strong limbs pulling him up with the confidence of any acrobat. He stops every few feet to loop his arms around the metal and take aim with his bow, accuracy deadly even in the awkward position. Demon squeal as they’re hit and Alec climbs higher. He flinches slightly when his foot slips on a drenched rung, but he doesn’t stop. Fear jolts through him, but Magnus’ heart doesn’t have time to leap to his throat, beating far too fast with his continuous casting. He keeps an eye on Alexander. The metal frame of the fire escape begins to shake with the force of the wind. Thunder bellows above them and Magnus’ attention is entirely forced back to the demons, still seemingly never ending.

The silence that follows the thunder is broken by Alexander’s shout of “CLARY, DO IT NOW.”

Blinding sunlight bursts forth from the red-haired nephilim. The demons  _ scream _ , and their shock is the opportunity the group finally needs. Arrows fall, a whip cracks, blades slice, magic burns until there is nothing but ichor. The sunlight rune fades. Magnus holds his breath. Nothing crawls from the returning darkness.

The group is still, their gasping lungs drowned out by the cacophony of the rain and low rumble of the thunder overhead. Magnus meets Isabelle’s eyes and then Clary’s; the three of them glance around together before raising their eyes to Alexander, still clinging to the fire escape. His hair is soaked and sticking to his forehead; his limbs are hooked around the metal to save him from slipping; even from the ground, his hands are visibly shaking from his rapid firing of arrows. Lightning flashes, illuminating up everything around them, and Alexander’s shadow is cast stark onto the building behind him.

The silhouette of his body is flanked by two huge, full, black wings.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I do more writing over on [tumblr](https://thattrainssailed.tumblr.com/). Come yell at me.


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